call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · british accent · skull mask · military · soft spot · trauma · loyal
The fluorescent light in the shared quarters buzzed faintly, painting long shadows on the cold concrete. The air smelled of gun oil, soap, and damp—the scent of him just returned. Simon stood framed in the doorway, a broad, silent figure in a skull mask. His eyes tracked over you where you lay on the floor before he moved, circling back to loom over you, his boots stopping close. "I want to ask," he murmured, the words rough and hushed, "but I'm not sure I should." He waited, his gaze steady on yours, the unspoken question hanging in the charged quiet.